


Love takes up where knowledge leaves off

by Garonne



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts on the banks of the Cherwell…</p>
<p>Not PWP, but admittedly light on plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love takes up where knowledge leaves off

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mrs_sweetpeach and belial for excellent beta-reading. Any remaining problems are due to my habit of adding things at the last minute ;) 
> 
> All credit to St Thomas Aquinas and Alexander Pope for the lines I appropriated.

Hathaway's eyes are round and glassy and he's gawping at Lewis with his mouth slightly, uncharacteristically, hanging open. Lewis' lips feel wet from the kiss, and his heart seems to think he's just run straight up a mountain instead of been rambling along the Cherwell. 

He wishes Hathaway would say something. At least he's still standing there instead of fleeing back up the riverbank to the car park. That's something to be thankful for already. Hathaway's not lost that dazed look, though, and Lewis finds himself checking for other signs of shock.

"Should I be calling an ambulance?" he says in a feeble attempt to diffuse the situation with a joke.

"What?"

"You look like someone going into shock."

Suddenly, finally, Hathaway's mouth twitches in the semblance of a smile. "My skin's not cool and clammy," he says, reaching out to prove it: a gentle brush on Lewis' cheek.

Lewis stills at the touch. He can feel Hathaway's thumb just shy of his lips. They stand frozen like that for a long moment, hovering on the cliff's edge.

It's Hathaway who moves first this time, swooping in on Lewis like he's afraid he'll lose his nerve otherwise. This time it's no chaste peck, but a whole-hearted fusion of lips and tongues, years of pent-up desire spilling out and flaming up uncontrollably.

Hathaway seems set to go on for ever, but it's starting to rain and Lewis has icy drops sliding down the back of his neck. 

He breaks away, and says, "Come back to my place."

Hathaway blinks. "Er, I - " His face is distorted in an awkward grimace. 

"Never mind," says Lewis, his stomach plummeting. "Just an idea."

"No, wait a minute."

Hathaway fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. He moves a few feet away. Lewis stands waiting for him, watching his sergeant speak and wondering whether Hathaway's throat is as tight with nerves and anticipation as his is. The rain is starting to fall more heavily now, and the trees along the river-bank are rustled by a cold wind. The same wind is blowing Hathaway's words towards him, and he hears apologies, and something about Monteverdi being in a box in the sacristy.

He's having vague thoughts about corpses stashed away in churches, until he realises it's a conversation about sheet music. He's making Hathaway miss his band rehearsal.

Hathaway comes back, looking cheerful.

"You didn't have to do that," says Lewis. "There's always tomorrow night."

" _Carpe diem,_ sir."

Lewis snorts. "Even I know that one."

They walk back to the car, further apart than usual, both suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. It's late as they return to where they'd parked, after an end-of-case dinner at Lewis' favourite Indian restaurant. He had been planning to suggest prolonging the evening with a pint, before Hathaway gave him one significant look too many and he finally cracked.

Lewis drives them to his flat. Hathaway is very quiet, but whenever Lewis sneaks a sly look at him at a red light, he's got an almost imperceptible smile on his face.

For a moment, after they get in the door, it's just like any other night. Hathaway flops onto the sofa and Lewis shuffles through his post before setting it aside. Then he turns to look at Hathaway and finds Hathaway sneaking a glance at him, and suddenly the butterflies in his stomach are back in full force.

"Something to drink?" he says, in the voice of a man with a bad throat infection.

Hathaway shakes his head.

Lewis hesitates. He knows his back won't appreciate the rolling around on the sofa the rest of his body is calling for. He can hardly suggest they lie down on the bed, though. Not already. That would give the lad the wrong idea. Or the right idea, more like. Anyway, it's more than a little too soon for that.

If he were sitting normally, though, with his back propped up against the sofa, and Hathaway were straddling his lap... The image that flashes into his head is irresistible in its indecency and he feels the blood rush to his face. He realises Hathaway is watching him with a wary expression.

"Look," says Hathaway. "There's no need to feel - You're allowed to have second thoughts."

"I was just thinking I'd look a right fool if I put my back out and we spent the evening in A and E instead of - " _in bed_ , he thinks, " - in a better place."

Hathaway's face cracks into one of his peculiar grins. "Dead, you mean?"

Lewis has a moment of confusion while he thinks back over his last words. He suspects Hathaway is deflecting, and as nervous as Lewis is.

He realises suddenly that whenever his dreams or fantasies have reached this point, Hathaway has always taken the lead. Lewis is the one who's wading out into unexplored waters, after all. Not that he hasn't spent plenty of time over the past few years imagining all the interesting things two men could get up to, but imagination built on ignorance has its limits. 

The real Hathaway doesn't show any signs of wanting to take the initiative, however. Lewis leans his elbows on the kitchen counter and wishes they hadn't lost the momentum on the drive home.

"Were you going to be rehearsing for something in particular?" he says.

Hathaway shakes his head again. He's still on the sofa, twisted round at an unnatural angle so he can see Lewis over the back of it. He's taken off his jacket and the way he's sitting is tugging at his shirt buttons, so that Lewis can almost see - or imagine he sees - tiny glimpses of what's beneath. He imagines running his hands over that warm skin. With trembling fingertips, probably, the way he's working himself up into a state now. 

He tells himself to stop being a fool and goes to plonk himself down on the sofa beside Hathaway.

Hathaway reaches out and lays a hand on Lewis' forearm and just like that, the tension in Lewis' gut disappears. Kissing Hathaway is the easiest thing in the world, and it feels like he's been doing it forever. Hathaway tastes of cigarettes and jalfrezi and Lewis can't get enough of it. Now he has warm hands on the back of his neck and a warm body inches from his. He grips Hathaway's shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt-sleeve, holding him close.

They're both twisted round at an uncomfortable angle, though, elbows jammed up against the sofa and Hathaway's sharp knee digging into Lewis' thigh.

Hathaway pulls away. "Wait a minute. Sit back." He hesitates for a split-second before swinging one leg over so that he's kneeling on the sofa, straddling Lewis' lap. Lewis feels his eyes go round and wide.

"I thought - " Hathaway doesn't move, as though afraid he's gone too far. "Well, what you said about your back - "

Lewis doesn't bother to say he had the same idea. Instead he puts his hands on Hathaway's hips, tugging him closer. The atmosphere has changed suddenly now that Hathaway's on top of him like this. Hathaway seems to feel it too. He inserts a finger into the knot of Lewis' tie and tugs it open, his eyes on Lewis' face. Emboldened, Lewis lets his hands slide down from the relatively impersonal ground of Hathaway's bony hips to the soft warm flesh of his arse. He hears Hathaway's breath catch, and his own heart starts to race.

Soon, Hathaway has the tie off and the top few buttons of Lewis' shirt open. He stares at the patch of skin thus revealed as though he's never seen anything like it, before bending his head to nip at Lewis' collarbone.

Lewis squirms, ticklish.

Hathaway draws back. "I'm sorry, I - "

"No, go on." Lewis runs a reassuring hand up Hathaway's back and over his shoulder to make a start on Hathaway's own clothes. The shirt is easy, but he fumbles a bit with the hook and button on the trousers, distracted by what Hathaway's doing to the tendons in his neck.

Some detached, observant part of him notes that in the normal way of things, he'd never have dreamt of going this far, this soon. But this is Hathaway, and it's impossible not to feel comfortable. Not when they've been waiting for this for years.

He catches Hathaway's eye and they both grin, suddenly and without inhibition. Hathaway is as flushed as Lewis feels, and his chin is pink from contact with Lewis' evening stubble. Lewis reaches out and pins Hathaway to him. All hesitation forgotten, they grind together, not quite in rhythm, snatching kisses from time to time. The clothes that separated them are mostly undone or half pushed aside. It makes for a odd, exciting mixture of skin on skin and skin on cloth.

Hathaway gives a sudden half-smothered groan, his fingers gripping Lewis' shoulders in a painful fashion. He slumps against Lewis, and Lewis can feel Hathaway's heart, reverberating through Lewis' own chest. After a few moments Hathaway raises his head. He slips a hand down between them, and finds Lewis still hard. He flashes Lewis a brief, joyful grin before kissing his way slowly and deliberately down Lewis' front, inside his open shirt.

Lewis feels himself tense, with anticipation now more than anything else. He relaxes when he feels Hathaway's mouth, warm and insistent. He's already on the edge, and a blissful minute later he's followed Hathaway over.

Hathaway resurfaces, looking pleased with himself, and flops against Lewis.

Lewis wraps an arm around him, his mind still floating slowly back down from the high. He can look back on his earlier nerves with amusement now. "Practice makes perfect, I suppose," he says foggily, thinking that he'll probably have to practice quite a bit. Something to look forward to.

Hathaway sits up, looking stricken. "I hope it will."

"I didn't mean - What?" Lewis processes the words. "You mean this is the first time - ?"

He's astounded to find they were both together in floundering around in the deep end for the first time. It's a pleasant thought, though. Makes him feel warm inside.

Hathaway's mouth is still twisted with worry.

"I meant _I'd_ have to practise, you daft lad," says Lewis. "You know, what you just did."

Hathaway relaxes, and he gives Lewis a sidelong look. "On me?"

"Mhm. If you like."

Hathaway slides off Lewis and onto the sofa beside him. They lie propped against each other, Lewis' hand resting on Hathaway's thigh, luxuriating in the comfortable silence. 

Lewis doesn't want to move to clean up. He looks across at Hathaway, who has his eyes closed.

"And here's me thinking of you as some kind of - experienced man of the world."

Hathaways emits a little snort. "Hardly."

"That wasn't half bad, then, for two blokes who didn't know what the hell they were doing."

Hathaway hums in agreement, and lets his head fall onto Lewis' shoulder. After a bit he says quietly, "So you're not averse to going on?"

Lewis know he's only asking to hear aloud the answer he already knows. "Well, now that we've started, it'd be a shame not to expand our knowledge."

Hathaway looks up at him from under half-closed eyelids. "Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring," he murmurs.

"Sounds like good advice to me," says Lewis, leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
